


Losing Him Was Blue

by Superhusbandsfamily



Series: Flashbacks And Echoes [3]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Currently being revamped/rewritten/revised 2016, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Gen, M/M, Stony - Freeform, Superfamily, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superhusbandsfamily/pseuds/Superhusbandsfamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Variant 2<br/>He mustered a smile and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight, Peter,” he said, watching Peter close his eyes once more. He continued to marvel at his son until Peter’s chest rose and fell rhythmically before resting against the mattress, hoping he would eventually fall asleep too. As the voices finally started to fade away, he whispered, “Goodnight, Steve.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

> _**It was dark as rain continued to fall. The cold and moss covered grounds made navigating through the trees and shrubs difficult. There were the sounds of helicopter blades overhead, and the smell of burning fuel from the StarkTech Quad-Bikes filled the air. He could have blamed the harsh weather, thrown a tantrum declaring faults, but it wouldn’t improve the nature of their situation. Murky and wet, nothing was helping...**_  

       Music blasted through the laboratory and the sounds from his machinery were deafening. It should have worked. It should have been able to drown out the voices. He should have been tired. With the amount of physical labour exerted to run his daily experiments, he was supposed to be exhausted. If it were any other day, he would be worn out. 

 _If_.

       He clapped his hands twice and everything went silent. Even Dum-E had backed up into a corner to be recharged instead of playfully nudging his master like he used to. He took off his black rubber gloves, threw them on the bench and downed his fifth glass. Tossing his goggles aside, he walked over to the bar and poured himself another.

       The lab was a mess. It was always in this state when he got started on new projects, not that he actually had one at the moment; pieces of scrap metal laid on almost every surface, old inventions were shoved in a corner, and his cars cloaked with a thick layer of dust. He couldn't remember the last time he had tinkered with or taken them for a spin. Like everything else, they were left forgotten.

      He checked the holographic display above the door before heading to take a seat at his desk, glass in one hand and bottle in the other. **3:47am** , he should be in bed, _he_ wouldn’t have been happy. He snapped his fingers and only the lights at the staircase remained lit. He sat in the illuminating glow of the arc reactor and monitors he was facing, presenting his latest findings. Glancing over them, he spun a hologram in his hand before deleting the file and turning the system off.

      He wondered when the last time he ate or slept. JARVIS used to constantly remind him in the first couple of months, but after being threatened to be reprogrammed, the artificial intelligence stopped. He downed his drink again before throwing it against the glass panels by the stairs. It crashed loudly and the shattered pieces covered the floor. Dum-E immediately took his post and began sweeping it up as if it were one of its regular routines.

       He felt a little satisfied, but despite his newfound peace, and other than the occasional whirring from the robot, everything was still too loud in his head. He struggled to shut down his mind. He had tried talking about it, or simply drinking it away; sleeping was definitely never an option, but nothing seemed to work. He took another gulp of whiskey from the bottle he didn’t even realise he was still holding onto; hoping to drown his sorrows, but the pain never left. Who was he kidding?

      It never did.

      He stumbled to the sink and poured every last drop of it down the drain. With the bottle tossed aside and Dum-E heading over to pick it up, he let his legs give way and slumped on the cold tiles. Leaning against the counter cupboards, closing his eyes, he gave up.

       He _needed_ to know what to do. He needed to be told to go to bed. He needed to be held and be whispered to, that he was indeed a good man; he was doing right. He needed to know there was someone around for him. He needed to be the person society required him to be. He needed to get a grip. He needed to stop living for yesterday, a wake-up call. He needed to be in control again.

       He needed _him_...

       “Sir?” JARVIS’ voice boomed through the intercoms. Without waiting for a reply, the AI brought up a video feed and displayed it in front of him. He could faintly sense the light piercing at his eyes but he refused to open them. He had finally managed to keep them closed for a second; he wasn’t going to give in now, but when JARVIS decided to turn the speakers on too, he fought against every aching muscle in his body to pry them open.

       He took one look at it and sighed.

       He couldn’t remember how he managed to pull himself up, carefully walking through the broken panels, and slowly making his way up the flight of stairs, but he did. He turned at the right corners and up another set of steps; it was like driving, second nature, he never knew how he ended up at his destinations when his surroundings were just a blur.

      Another corner and he found himself leaning against a doorway. Unlike the other parts of the mansion, the room somehow managed to retain enough warmth and affection; some of the many things he longed for. 

      The deep blue walls were serene as they enclosed on him. Various safari animals smiled as they ran along the sides. There was a box of blocks sitting in the corner with a little green, army plane hanging above them. At the very end of the room was probably one of his numerous inventions he favoured and was proud of. It was a beautiful array of planets and stars in place of windows; a masterpiece.

> “There you are. Check this out,” he said as he turned the dial and the bright afternoon sky outside magically became a starry night. “Not just windows anymore. What d'ya think?” He could feel himself grinning like an idiot but he didn’t care.
> 
> “It’s actually pretty great. That’s what’s been keeping you up so late?” he asked, walking further into the room.
> 
> “Yep. Just thought he deserved to have something awesome in here, you know? Wouldn’t be haunted by the terrors the night brings either and...hey! What’s that?” He walked over to the other, gesturing at his hands.
> 
> “Oh...this?” He looked down at the wooden item clutched between his fingers. “It’s nothing, compared to that.”
> 
> He took a step closer and lifted the freshly painted airplane out of the other’s hands and was lost for words. “It’s...beautiful. He’ll love it.”
> 
> “Really think so?” He smiled shyly.
> 
> He watched that familiar redness fill the cheeks of the man in front of him before leaning over to lay his lips on them. "Its perfect."

       He walked slowly into the room, steadying his drunken self against the walls and stood by the bed; too tiny to fit a grown man, let alone a ten year old child. The scene before him was exactly like he had watched a couple of minutes ago.

      The small form was tossing, turning and making peculiar noises. He was used it, having seen it for a couple of years now, but that didn't mean it was any easier. It was still unsettling and left a nasty pit in his gut. To make matters worse, the outbursts were getting horrendous lately.

      No surprise there.

> “You think he’ll be okay? Maybe he should spend another night with us?” he asked worriedly, gently placing the slumbering baby in his crib.
> 
> “He’ll be fine. JARVIS will let us know if he needs us.”
> 
> "But Carol did warn us about his nightmares." He leaned forward in attempt to pick the kid up again. "I think I should stay here and watch him to be on the safe side.” 
> 
> “Hey...” he whispered, taking his hand and turning him to face him, “...he’ll be fine. Look at him. He’s great! They’ve gotten a lot better thanks to you." He smiled when the lines between the other's brows softened and his blues shone. "Stop worrying.” 

       He couldn’t bother with removing the safety-rail when he scooped the boy up and cradled him in his arms. He rocked the toddler, holding him close till the squirming and hiccupped cries stopped. Stumbling on his own feet, he leant against the nearest wall and tightened his grip on the sleeping child. As he began to stir, he shushed him and hoped the hum of the reactor would help calm him down. He felt useless knowing that was all he could do.

> “ _Christopher Robin and I walked along under branches lit up by the moon..._  
>  _Posing our questions to Owl and Eeyore as our days disappeared all too soon..._ ”
> 
> He watched quietly from the doorway as the man walked around the nursery, singing a lullaby into the little one’s ear after another of his 'episodes'.
> 
> “ _It’s hard to explain how a few precious things seem to follow throughout all our lives..._  
>  _After all’s said and done I was watching my son sleeping there with my bear by his side..._  
>  _So I tucked him in, I kissed him..._ ”
> 
> The other soon noticed him standing there and gave him a smile he knew was only meant for him. He walked over and slung his arm across broad shoulders, gave him a peck on the cheek then looked down at the tot, secretly wishing the moment would never end.

      With the four year old still in his arms, he made his way to his bedroom just across the hall. It was spacious with nothing but a desk in one corner, an easel in the other, and a king-sized bed dead centre. The room looked like it hadn’t been lived-in for a while; dust was starting to cover the wooden floorboards and the easel had cobwebs hanging from its corners.

       The maroon sheets were still neatly made on the right but a little rustled on the left. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep in the bed, let alone _his_ side, ever since. It was cold, empty and unwelcoming. He usually ended up asleep either on laboratory grounds or sprawled across the couch in the lounge for most days where he was too tired or drunk to care.

> “Hey, up you go. Are you ever going to learn to come to bed yourself?” He lifted him off the workbench and balanced him securely on his feet.
> 
> “Nguhh...why would I need to when I have you?”
> 
> “I don’t even want to begin imagining what you’d do without me,” he smirked, guiding him up the stairs.

       He lowered the toddler onto the left and pulled the blanket over; tucking him in with the bear he still managed to hang on to. He plopped himself down on the floor beside him and leaned on the bedside table, cursing mutely when his head met with its corner. He watched as the child turned and gradually opened those brown eyes that matched the mob on his head. Clearly half asleep, the boy asked, “Papa?”

       He shifted closer to run his fingers through the questioner’s soft hair. “Sorry kiddo, just me,” he replied, masking disappointment. “Go back to sleep.”

      The tyke gave a little yawn, and rubbed an eye with his knuckles. He looked at him, eyes searching for recognition, before adding, “Okay, night-night Daddy.”

       He mustered a smile and placed a kiss on the youngster's forehead. “Goodnight, Peter,” he said, watching Peter close his eyes once more. He continued to marvel at his son till Peter’s chest rose and fell rhythmically before resting against the mattress, hoping he would eventually fall asleep too. As the voices _finally_ started to fade away, he whispered into darkness, “Goodnight, Steve.”


	2. The Life

> _**The chill of the wind and water seeped through the damaged sections of his suit as his vision continued to blur before him. It had been hours since he last received an update from the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents above. The area flooded with silence. Only the crunch of his boots on foliage was heard. All around him reeked of death and a shiver ran down his spine. No matter how much he wanted to blame it on the equipment or anyone who stood in his way, it was his fault, and he knew it...** _

      Falling into the darkness, there was peace. A moment of tranquillity, till the faint tapping in the distance began. He could hear it approaching, unable to make out what it was. As if he were on a boat, there was rocking and the sound of waves crescendoed with every crash. The strong currents swept him from side to side before he was pulled by the force of a whirlpool. It was compelling, spiralling into its depths, being swallowed by its might. Distraught and bewildered, he headed towards the sudden light shining brightly ahead, and...and he opened his eyes. 

       Peter was on his knees staring down at him. The boy giggled and continued to shake his father as enthusiastically as his little hands could. “Dada! Wake up!” Which was the last thing Tony wished to do, but the toddler repeated it like a tape on loop. He hadn’t slept in days and just as he was beginning to... 

      He groaned and turned towards the bed, away from the child. Closing his eyes once more, he hoped that by simply ignoring his son, it would send him away and he would get his eight hours. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out the way he had wanted. Peter had instead taken the liberty of marching around the room, rapping up a beat with his tiny feet, and yelling at the top of his voice, “Daddy! It’s morning! Wake up!” He was beaming with pride at the new game he had just invented.

      He never lost it. It was arguably true that he wasn’t a very patient man, but Tony Stark never lost his temper; not once with his son. He concluded a long time ago he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he did. In his book, history was never to be repeated.

      “Pete, please stop,” he mumbled, “Daddy needs to sleep.” Peter ignored his pleas. He was met with another chorus of ‘Dada’s and thumping. Tony felt like his head was about to explode. Peter’s voice was thunderous and the morning sun glaring in from the cracks in the blinds was giving him a blistering headache. It was too late when realised what was happening. He couldn’t stop himself in time. “STOP IT, PETER! LEAVE ME ALONE!” 

      Everything happened in a blur, and It was as if the sequence played before him in slowed, repetitive motions. He remembered shoving Peter, watching him being thrust away and colliding with the side of the bed. He recalled the loud thud from the floor boards when the toddler landed backwards on them, and the muffled cries that followed. 

      “Peter?” He had somehow gotten to his feet and hurried to the boy’s side. Peter attempted to hide as Tony approached, but the rapid distribution of shock and pain minimised his movements. He instead clutched his knees to his chest and buried his face in them. Tony could see the fear in Peter’s watery brown eyes as he took in the trembling form in front of him. It was all too familiar, and he needed it gone. He wanted to reach out and hold his son close; to tell him he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it, to wipe away the tears streaming down his face and make it better, but he couldn’t diminish the invincible barrier between them, and all he could do was watch.

      He watched as Peter slowly picked himself up, rubbing his back where it hurt. He wanted to stand and trail after the child as he scampered to his room, but he couldn’t. He felt trapped inside his own skin. He needed to escape the dreadful World he had just created; a mistake he didn’t want to deal with. He wished he could rip his ears out when Peter’s wailing grew intolerable behind the closed door.

> “You’re not your father.” Steve gave him a warm smile, reaching out for his hand across the counter top. “You’re so much better than he ever was, Tony.”
> 
> He looked at Steve, and felt he could actually be right. Maybe he wasn’t cursed to turn out like his worst nightmare. Steve was ready, and maybe he was too. “You'll help me?” he asked, brows furrowed, placing his mug down to take Steve's hand in his. “You promise you’ll never let me become like him?”
> 
> “I promise,” said Steve, a larger grin forming on his face as he continued, “so, is that a yes?”
> 
> Tony couldn’t help but replicate it. He could do it. Steve would be there and they would be great parents with the happiest kid on Earth. He went around the island and pulled Steve in, hugging him in a tight embrace and nodded onto his shoulder, “Yes.”

       He eventually got off the floor and was making his way out of his bedroom when his eyes darted to the ginger bear sitting at the edge of the immense bed. He picked it up, straightened its bow-tie and paced slowly around the hallway before heading towards Peter’s room. He dropped his hand numbly back to his side after momentarily hovering it over the silver handle. Leaving the bear resting against Peter’s door, he hesitantly walked down the stairs to his workshop with his son’s cries echoing in his mind. His body ached from sleeping on the hard floor but he had gotten used to waking up that way. He guessed the ache in his chest was classified as normal too. 

> The sun was blazing high in the sky, and various smells filled the air. There were hotdogs and popcorn and cotton candy stands around them. The park was full of life; sounds from popping balloons and carnival rides, parents running after their excited children, and food sizzling on the grills.
> 
> There was so much to see and even more to do, but all he could hear was Steve’s laughter and Peter’s giggles as Steve swung their son into the air, catching him in his arms and cuddling him before tossing him up again.
> 
> All he could see were the huge smiles on their faces and the joy in their eyes. Shaded under an old oak tree, he sat on their picnic blanket holding onto ' _Teddy the_ Bear' Steve had just won for Peter in one of those silly shooting games, and smiled too.  

       The workshop was spotless. There wasn’t a hint of evidence suggesting the appalling events of the night before. Once his fingerprints were scanned and the glass door had unlocked, he immediately stumbled towards the bar and ran a hand through the opened liquor cabinet. Just then, a circular item, the size of his palm, fell out of it and landed at his feet. He groaned, bending over to pick it up. Feeling it through his fingers, he knew exactly what it was. He took a good look at its jagged centre and smooth metallic finish just to be sure.

      Grabbing a bottle of scotch off the shelf, he brought the object to his desk and inserted it in an outlet with the same dimensions. He plopped himself down on the seats of his ruby-red Oldsmobile and vibrant holographic figures began flashing in front of him. He gulped down the alcohol and it burned at his throat, but it was soothing.

> “It’d be fun, Cap!” He beamed at Steve who was staring at his latest contraption in confusion.
> 
> Steve sighed and carefully held it up against the glow of the bench lamp. “How does this even work? What does it _do_?”
> 
> He found Steve’s expression amusing when he grabbed it out of his hands and pretended to lose his grip on it. “Think of it as our own little time-capsule filled with pictures, documents, _memories_...” He left the words hanging, knowing Steve would eventually catch his drift.
> 
> “You mean anything we want to keep safe? Things we can look back on in the future?” Steve asked, clearly amazed.
> 
> “Exactly, you’re learning fast!” he said and wasn’t surprised when Steve instantly went about the mansion collecting everything with sentimental value, reminiscing in the process. When they were done, Steve thanked him generously that night for the best birthday present ever.

      He scrolled through pictures taken at parties and the team after missions, pausing at those with Steve. There were also shots of when they had just brought Peter home, their first photographs as a family. He felt the corners of his mouth rise when his eyes rested upon the one he sought out.

       They had both taken some time off to spend with Peter. In the picture, he looked no more than a year old. Peter had one hand in Steve’s and the other in Tony’s, waddling between them on the beach. The three of them were in matching Bermudas and a scarlet sun could be seen setting in the background; an extraordinary moment captured by his flying camera-bots he was working on for Stark Industries.

> It was difficult to go places without the paparazzi tailing them or the World needing saving every other day, but on one miraculous morning, they had managed to flee from it all. Who cared if it only lasted a couple of hours?
> 
> They were delighted; building sandcastles, eating fish and chips, having fun in the waves, ignoring persistent phone calls, and when Peter was taking his afternoon nap, he and Steve laid on the sand, talking or just simply sitting in comfortable silence. For once, it felt like they were an ordinary family, one he had always aspired to have.

      There was a video after the image and he hit play. Peter was older; running after a Frisbee Tony had thrown when Steve scooped him up and lifted him high enough to catch it. Later, they ended up rolling in the sand and a wave came in, soaking them both. They roared with laughter as Tony headed towards them with towels only to have Steve pull him down to join them. The camera zoomed up on Steve mouthing ‘I love you’ before giving him a kiss. 

      They were happy. It was probably the best day of their lives. Sure there were other times, but he couldn’t think of any that were even _comparable_. He pushed a switch above the horn and the holographs disappeared. Wiping at the tears he was unaware of, he tossed the empty bottle aside and slipped out of the car, shutting its vintage door behind him with a bang.

       In hope that Peter had stopped and would somehow forgive him, he gradually made his way back up the stairs but abruptly decided against it and walked to the kitchen. He got the coffee machine going with a flick of his wrist and was determined to sober up before trying to regain his son’s trust. He went to the sink, splashed his face with water, and took a seat.

       “I’m trying,” he said, gazing at his reflection on his mug, “but you’ve gotta help me too.” He slammed his fists aggressively on the table and the aromatic liquid spilled over, covering its surface. “You said you’d be here. You said I wouldn’t turn into _him_. Where the Hell are you now?!” he screamed at the ceiling. Concealing his rage in his palms, he wept. “Steve... _you_ _promised_...you promised you’d never leave me...”

      The ringing caused an awful throbbing in his head. He felt like someone was given the freedom to personally hammer at his brain, repeatedly. He cursed the aspirin and caffeine for not having any effect on the excruciating hangover he was having. It must have been more than ten years since the last time he felt as horrible as he did. He wondered why JARVIS hadn’t warned him about the presence of the idiot outside that just wouldn’t stop pressing the doorbell! 

      He was suddenly unsure of why he had one in the first place. He made a mental note to rip that atrocious thing out as soon as he could remember where it was and if his legs would take him there. “JARVIS!” he yelled, then cradled his head in his hands. The headache was killing him and he could feel a pang of nausea rolling through him again. “JARVIS! I invented you to be useful! Who is that?!”

      “Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan, Sir,” the AI replied, and if it could project any form of emotion, one could have sworn it was upset.     

      “What’re they doing here? And _what the Hell_ are they still doing _outside_? Not budging in like always?” he groaned. Not long after, there was a distinct beep and he heard the crash of the front doors followed by hurried footsteps heading towards him.

      “Not in my job description to do that, Boss. It is hers though,” Happy declared as he entered the kitchen with a furious Pepper trailing behind him. Tony looked up to begin confronting the home invaders, but wasn’t given a chance to.

      “ _What were you thinking, Tony?_ I panicked when I got the call. I didn’t know what to think! Do you know what it was like driving out there? Rushing through oncoming traffic?” Pepper screamed, dumping her handbag on the counter before approaching him. “We could have gotten ourselves killed!” She pressed her hands to his chest, shoving him as hard as she could and he swayed in place. He cocked his head at her in puzzlement which made her blood boil.

       “In my defence, I did the driving,” Happy butted in as he bent down to pick up her lipstick that had fallen to the floor.

      “Shut up, Happy!” Tony and Pepper snapped at him in unison causing Happy to shrug as he placed the item back where it belonged and receded awkwardly into the fridge.

       “What are you talking about? What _call_? Did I drunk-call you again?” Tony asked with a frown. Sitting up straight in his chair, he slung an arm around the back, steadying himself to face Pepper.

       “The alarming call from your terrified son!” she replied, distress evident in her voice as she continued, asking, “Where is he? Is he alright?”

       “Wait, Peter called you?” he asked, confused, before it hit him. “Oh, shit...” He rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes.

      “What happened, Tony? How much did you have to drink this time?” She glanced around the kitchen but there wasn’t a bottle of alcohol in sight, which surprised her but in the meantime, raised more concern.

      “I’m gonna just...umm...check on the kid,” Happy mumbled in the background, excusing himself, and was glad to finally be getting out of the way, disappearing up the arched stairs.

      “I-I don’t know, Pep,” he murmured, slumping back in his seat. “Shit...I’ve really screwed up now, haven't I?” He was afraid. He wasn’t ready to lose another person he loved due to his stupidity.

       “Just tell me what happened,” said Pepper calmingly as she closed the distance between them and placed a hand on his shoulder.

      “How much do you know?”

      “Nothing. I could barely hear him over the phone. Tony, you're scaring me. Don’t make me go digging around in the security tapes.” 

      Tony sighed and turned away. He couldn’t look her, not after doing what he did. He just wanted the both of them to leave. They had no right busting in and threatening him. He needed to be alone to solve the pending problem by himself. He didn’t require their assistance in everything he did. Why must he have to explain himself and relive that moment of shame?

       He fought with his inner monologue until he found the solution he was searching for. It was only because Peter had cried for help that he felt obligated to provide some kind of clarification. “Everything happened so fast. I-I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t stop myself,” he began, staring inertly at his quivering hands. “Peter was there and he wouldn’t be quiet and...I emptied a whole shelf, Pep. I wanted to be alone. I was so tired and I got so mad and he wouldn’t stop, and I...I hit him, _Pep_.” Tony looked up into Pepper’s silver-blue eyes as tears trickled down his cheeks. “ _I hit my son_.”

> “Anthony!” the greying man bellowed from the leather lounge in his personal library, a glass of bourbon in his hand. “Anthony! I expect you to come when you’re called!”
> 
> There were footsteps in the distance, pattering on the polished marble floor and soon, a seven year old boy appeared at the entrance, breathing deeply. “Yes, Father?” he asked, deliberately making his way further into the enormous, gloomy room that dwarfed him.
> 
> “What took you so long? Come here!” the bearded man ordered and the child rushed to his side. He had his arm gripped forcefully, exerting pressure against an old bruise causing him to wince. “Be a good boy and fill this up,” said Howard while shoving the empty glass into his son’s chest.
> 
> The frail boy nodded silently, accepted the article and headed to the bar to refill the drink as his father continued to shout, “Hurry up, you imprudent mammal!” tossing a cushion in his direction, barely missing him. He tip-toed and  nervously grabbed the first bottle he saw on the shelf, pouring the dark copper liquid into the glass, while being careful not to spill it.
> 
> He wearily approached Howard with the refilled glass and gave it to him before backing away, slowly, never uttering a word. There was a split second of searing pain and before he knew it, he was scrambling on the floor, trying to get on his feet. He stood up and stroked at his cheek where his drunken father had just slapped him, and it stung. He bit his lower lip to stop a whimper from escaping.
> 
> Howard then proceeded with violently throwing the solid glass at the child and it hit him in the head, causing him to fall back on the cold floor once more, patches of brown staining his crisp white shirt. “You imbecile! You couldn’t even get a simple thing like this right! You’re going to run Stark Industries to the ground!” he yelled, looking at his son with disapproval and disgust. “ _Get out of my sight._ ” 
> 
> Tony darted out of the room as fast as his little feet would take him, with a blood soaked hand covering the gushing wound on his forehead while the other was trying to wipe at the constant stream of tears down his face.

      “Oh, Tony...” Pepper wanted to offer him words of comfort but was unable to express herself. She instead had started rubbing at his back when they heard Happy knocking at Peter’s door, asking if it was alright for him to come in, followed by words of protest from the boy on the other side.

       “I’m not cut out for this, Pepper. I can’t be his Dad. It’s against my genetic code. I can’t be _a father_!” he blurted, mindlessly twisting the silver band around his left digitus medicinalis before doing the same to the one on his right hand.

       “No. You made a promise to that boy a long time ago, Tony. You’re his father and he needs you now more than ever,” she reminded him. “You need each other.”

> _“_ And that’s it?” he asked as his put down the pen he was using and quickly glanced through the documents he had just signed another time.
> 
> “Yup, that’s all. He’s yours, and Steve’s,” the social worker answered, grinning at him and nodding towards the person cradling a newborn. “Congratulations!” she cheered before vanishing through the door behind her, leaving them alone.
> 
> Tony stood up and turned around to face his family... _his family_.
> 
> If he had smiled any brighter, he would have blinded someone. He wrapped them both in a gentle embrace and rested his head against the taller man’s shoulder
> 
> “We did it, Tony. We’re parents!” Steve beamed at him before gluing his eyes to the baby once more.
> 
> He looked at the blue bundle in Steve’s arms and began speaking in a whisper as he leaned down to drop a kiss on the child’s wrinkled button nose. “Hey, kiddo. It’s your Daddy. I’m going to spoil you, and protect you, and love you always.” He smiled warmly then shifted his gaze to Steve’s deep blue eyes and said, “I promise.”

      “He needs Steve! Not me! I’d be surprised if he’d ever want to speak to me again!” he announced, hopping off his seat, causing Pepper to stagger backwards. “He’s better off without me. Hell, everyone is! I should have been the one to go! Not _him_! And it’s my fault...”   

       Peter’s piercing sobs began echoing through the halls upstairs which were followed by hushed coos from Happy. They were eventually muted by his driver entering the toddler’s room, closing the door behind him. Tony inadvertently clenched at his chest, feeling like his heart had reached the nadir of its sufferings, as the reactor dimmed in sync. 

      “It’s not your fault. When are you going to stop blaming yourself?” Pepper always had an air of compassion mixed with her ferocity. It was the impression she left on others that made her the person she was. He knew there was no point in arguing and allowed her to continue. “You don’t have to go through this alone. Happy and I are glad to help with Peter anyway we can. Susan offers all the time,” she soothed, furrowing her eyebrows. “But you need to _ask_ , Tony.”

> "I want _help_ , Steve! I want to get better!"
> 
> "Then let me help you."

      “Yeah, Pep I kn-” he paused when Pepper reached out for him. Taking her hand in his, he examined it. “What’s this?” he asked as he slowly bent her hand at angles. He appreciated the rays of light gleaming in from the windows radiated off the luminous diamond on her finger. The ring was unpretentious yet magnificent, and he stared at it in awe.

       “He asked and I said yes.” Pepper retrieved her hand from him and hid it behind her back, turning a light shade of pink.

      “Wow, Pep! I’m really happy for the two of you! No pun intended,” he said with enthusiasm, albeit it felt weird and didn’t sit right. “When’s the big day?” he asked while trying an attempt at smiling.

      Pepper gave him one of her famous glares before replying, “Harold agreed we’d have a spring wedding, sometime in April, maybe? We haven’t really thought of a date yet.”

> In the wake of a tragedy at Stamford, the United States Government proposed a Superhuman Registration Act intending to register all super-powered beings as living weapons of mass destruction, requiring all costumed heroes to unmask and subject themselves to federally mandated standards.
> 
> The prospect of registration divided the superhuman community down the middle, initiating the formation of pro-registration and anti-registration groups. He, Tony Stark aka Iron Man, who had previously tried to halt the act, became the pro-registration figurehead.
> 
> It was the dawn of a Civil War; a mighty battle between superheroes the people had once looked up to, where the citizens knew what was imminent when they themselves didn’t. They spoke of conflict that would lead to nothing more than death, chaos and destruction, and they were right. When it was over, there were novel beginnings, yet it was too late for things to return to the way it once was.
> 
> He had lost many good friends and allies because of it, and was forced to do things he never thought he was capable of. The worst part for him was that innocent people, like Happy and Pepper, got tangled up in the mess he had facilitated. He had almost lost them too; Happy lying in a hospital bed with multiple tubes containing fluids flowing in and out of him, and Pepper telling him to turn those blasted machines off and put her beloved to rest.
> 
> He couldn’t do it. Call him a coward but he couldn’t end his life, and he was grateful he hadn’t, because Happy Hogan, his chauffeur and sometime-training buddy, one of his best friends, had regained consciousness after spending months in a coma from a war that wasn’t his to fight. Happy had required regular assistance during his recovery period, in which Tony helped out wherever and whenever he could. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he had given up and made the wrong choice, again.

      “That sounds great! After all you’ve been through...congratulations, Pep.” He gave her a hug she definitely wasn’t expecting, but returned it anyway.

       "Thanks, Tony."

      For a moment, he had forgotten. For a split second, what was actually imminent in his reality, was not, till he heard his son’s screams from the stairwell, “No, Uncle Happy! I don’t wanna talk to Daddy!” Peter’s shrieking didn’t stop until Happy shushed and carried him back into his room. 

       “I gotta go, Pep,” he said and headed hastily towards the foyer before she could protest. He needed a break from the current chapter of his life. He needed a breather. “Watch him for me will you?”

      “Tony, _no_! Peter needs you! You can’t just leave!” she pleaded after him. “And there’s no way I’m letting you drive in this state!”

      “Whoever said anything 'bout driving?” He extended his arms out to his sides and closed his eyes. Various pieces of metallic red and gold armour began fitting themselves into their respective places on the under-suit that materialised from his body. There was whirring from the ceiling as it caved and opened above them. “Try to stop me,” he stated as his helmet slid shut over his face. With that, the Iron Man was gone, leaving a trail of smoke leading out the roof in his wake.


End file.
